


Counting Daylights and Midnights

by les-feels-de-labc (GloriousPirateAlpaca)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But Only Because They're Idiots, Enjolras and Grantaire Share One (1) Brain Cell and Combeferre Has It, Enjoltaire Games 2020, Fluff, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousPirateAlpaca/pseuds/les-feels-de-labc
Summary: “Are you…” He peaked over Enjolras’ shoulder where he tried to push the letter away. “Are you writing Grantaire a letter?”“Okay don’t laugh.” He gave Courfeyrac a stern look. He was met with a look claiming ‘I would never’. They both knew it was a lie. “But yes. I am.”“Can I just ask…. And this is not a criticism, because lord knows we need more Victorian-esque gay letter exchanging in the world. But have you ever heard of phones?”There’s only so much you can do when your boyfriend-but-not-really suddenly announces out that he’s going abroad for a year. Writing him a letter is, on all accounts, a pretty good start.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 81
Collections: Enjoltaire Games 2020





	1. Summer

**Author's Note:**

> For the Enjoltaire Games 2020!
> 
> Much love to Muse for hosting these games and to [Jenn](https://darkestbefourdawn1.tumblr.com/) for being an absolutely superb beta!

The look on Combeferre’s face when Enjolras stepped into their kitchen could only be described as _done_. Staring down at his textbook with his head in his hands, he looked as if his soul had long left his body. Enjolras snuck past him to their coffee machine. A silent ‘I love you, man’, came from Combeferre.

Enjolras sat on the other side of the table. He snuck a glance to see what Combeferre was studying but gave up immediately. Latin name after Latin name followed descriptions of diseases no regular person would ever encounter. Enjolras silently thanked his past self for choosing law.

The smell of burnt plastic filled the room and Enjolras made a face as he stood to get the coffee. They really needed to get a new machine. So far the coffee itself never tasted burnt, but that was only a matter of time.

“So,” Enjolras said as he put a cup down in front of Combeferre. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Combeferre stopped mid-sip, eyeing Enjolras over the rim. “If this is about Grantaire…”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “It’s not. Why do you always think that? Don’t answer that,” he quickly added when Combeferre opened his mouth to speak. “No, it’s about the amnesty club.”

Comebeferre shot him a tired look through his glasses. “It’s what, July 21st? It’s a month and a half before that starts again.”

  
“Says the guy studying…” Enjolras leaned over to read the headline in Combeferre’s textbook. “MRI-scanning, on summer break.”

“Touché. But, no offence Enjolras, studying ahead is a little different than planning club activities ahead.”

Still, Combeferre closed the book, taking out a calendar and listened as Enjolras talked about potential activities, plans for the first meeting, and general loose ideas he wanted to incorporate. They finally stopped when Combeferre's study-break timer rang. They prepared to head over to Couf's and Jehan's place.

***

One problem about group meetings during the summertime was nobody's schedules lined up. When Combeferre and Courfeyrac worked, Jehan and Feuilly had days off. Marius and Cosette’s schedules matched up with each other’s but no one else’. Joly worked the night shift almost every night. Eponine seemed to work on the oddest hours only.

So the fact that a total of ten of them had managed to meet up was an achievement. Marius and Cosette couldn’t make it, and Eponine said she’d do her best to stop by later. When Combeferre and Enjolras knocked on the door at six, only Joly and Bossuet were there. Courfeyrac had stepped out of the shower two minutes prior. Being on time wasn't a widespread skill in the group.

“Hi,” Joly waved at them. He jumped up in Bossuet's lap with the excuse of making space for Combeferre and Enjolras on the couch. Bossuet flicked him on the nose with a grin and reminded him of the many chairs around them. He wrapped his arms around to pull him closer anyway.

“Where’s Musichetta?” Combeferre asked as he slid down next to them. Enjolras did the same, sinking down into the soft cushion.

“She’ll be here in a bit.” Bossuet rested his chin on Joly's shoulder. “She got caught up with something at work.”

”And she’s bringing beer?” Courfeyrac stepped into the room, his hair still wet. “Hi, guys.” He gave Enjolras a quick hug and Combeferre a kiss. He smelled like peaches.

“She is,” Joly confirmed.

“Nice,” Jehan said when they stepped into the room. They balanced two towers with glasses in their hands. Setting the glasses down on the table next to Courfeyrac, they glared at him and smacked him on the arm. “Don’t think I don’t recognise that scent. Stop stealing my shampoo and buy your own.”

Courfeyrac whined and ended up dragging them all into a conversation on whether or not it was fair for him to steal Jehan’s shampoo on the “rare occasion” that he ran out. One by one the rest of their friends dropped in. 

Finally, all but one of them were there; Enjolras tried to not show his disappointment. He checked his phone as discreetly as he could, but Grantaire hadn’t said anything about not being able to make it. He was about to ask Courfeyrac when, as if on cue, the front door opened.

“Yo,” Grantaire greeted, stepping into the room. He balanced a bag with bottles on top of pizza boxes. “I come bearing pizza.”

“Sweet,” Courfeyrac grinned, pushing himself to his feet. “Thanks for picking it up.”

“No problem dude,” Grantaire said, handing him the boxes. Waving to the rest of them, his eyes lingered a second longer at Enjolras. He gave him a small smile, then ducked back into the hallway to take his shoes off.

“Oh come on,” he said when he came back. He gestured out in the room, towards his friends. “How is _every_ seat taken? Didn’t you guys have like, fifty chairs or whatever?”

“Well,” Jehan began, not looking up from the pizza they were cutting. “We did have another chair, didn’t we, _Courfeyrac_?”

Courfeyrac had the grace to blush. So did Combeferre. Enjolras, who had been the subject of Jehan’s call of complaint, laughed. Scattered giggles echoed around the room.

“Why don’t you tell Grantaire why we don’t have another chair, Courfeyrac?” Jehan continued, voice sweet but glare anything but. Courfeyrac opened his mouth, closed it again, looking like a fish gasping for air. Joly, who’d managed to keep his laughter down to a snicker, burst out laughing loudly.

“No, it’s okay, I can guess. I don’t need explicit details of your sex life. The fact that you managed to break a chair is more than enough information.”

Grantaire slid down on the floor in front of Enjolras. The table didn’t give him much space. “Is it okay if I sit here?” he asked, glancing up at Enjolras. He almost leaned his head onto Enjolras lap in the process. “Seems like the floor is the only available seat.”

Combeferre’s voice barely carried, yet the sarcastic tone was easily detectable. “Oh no, what a _problem._ ”

“Go ahead,” Enjolras told Grantaire. He elbowed Combeferre as subtly as he could. Grantaire grinned and turned away from them. Enjolras took the opportunity to glare at Combeferre.

As slices of pizza were handed out, questions to catch up began flying across the room. How was work? What terrible customers had they faced? How were Jehan’s plants faring in the hot weather? (Terribly, to everyone’s dismay.)

Catching up turned into discussions and soon it was like being back in the Amnesty club room again. The topics were silly, but the atmosphere was the same. Loud chattering and laughing, the occasional pun that made everyone stop and groan. Joly freaking out over Bahorel’s story that involved fighting. Musichetta snatching the pizza cutter from Jehan before they cut their finger off. Enjolras leaned back in his seat, watching his friends cheer on Bossuet trying to down a beer in one gulp. Absolute chaos, but with so much unconditional love and comfort.

Grantaire glanced up at him again. During the discussions, he’d leaned back to rest against Enjolras’ legs. Glancing up at him this time, he really did lean his head onto Enjolras’ legs. It took all of Enjolras’ willpower to not run his fingers through Grantaire’s curls at that moment. As if knowing what he was thinking, Grantaire let out a small laugh before turning again. He kept his head rested on Enjolras’ knee for the rest of the evening.

***

Enjolras almost dropped his pen when his phone went off mid-studying. Cursing, he pushed aside papers to find it. Hadn’t he set it to silent? He caught it just before he pushed it to the floor with the papers. Ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at the caller, he pressed allow.

“Hi, Grantaire.”

“Hey.” Grantaire’s grin slipped into his voice. “Are you busy right now?”

Enjolras glanced at the mountain of articles and books surrounding him. “Nope.”

“Sweet.” It could be Enjolras imagination, but Grantaire sounded like he hesitated before continuing. “Meet me at that coffee shop you and Ferre like in...twenty minutes?”

“Sure,” Enjolras said, trying to tidy his work with only his left hand. “See you then.”

Carrying the material back to his room, he stuck his head into Comeferre’s on the way. “I’m heading out.”

“Cool.” Combeferre gave him a thumbs up without looking up from his laptop. “If you pass the store, can you pick up some milk?”

“Uh, sure.” He caught a paper slipping out his grasp. “I’m meeting Grantaire though, so I don’t know if I’ll pass it.”

Combeferre finally looked up from his laptop. He glanced down to pause whatever he was watching. “Oh,” he said. A smile tugged at his lips. “In that case, I can get it myself. Have fun. Tell Grantaire hi. Will you be home for dinner?”

“Yes, mom.” Enjolras rolled his eyes, smiling. “Do you want me to have a tag with your number on in case I get lost?”

Combeferre laughed, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m sure you’d find your way home eventually. Now go-” he waved him off “-and have fun. But not too much fun.”

Rolling his eyes again, Enjolras ducked out of Combeferre’s room. He dropped his stuff haphazardly on his bed, planning to take care of the mess later. He peeked in the mirror, attempting to tidy his hair. It didn’t feel like cooperating. Sighing, he gave up, grabbing his jacket and keys before heading out.

***

The heat hit him like a punch in the face when he stepped out. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he regretted not taking sunglasses. The concrete roads and city houses did not help. Neither did the crowds of people Enjolras had to push through to get to the coffee shop. It seemed like the entire population of Paris had taken to the streets at this hour.

Somehow, he managed to navigate his way through the crowds without colliding into anyone. Especially not any aggressive businessmen in suits too hot for the weather. Slipping out of the crowd, he breathed a sigh of relief. The coffee shop was located off the main drag. The alley might look shady on the first glance, but the shop was cosy. A small family business, run by an older woman and her two sons. Their pastries were a little more expensive than those at Starbucks. But hey, Enjolras would much rather support local businesses. They tasted much better than those at Starbucks too.

Grantaire was leaning on the facade outside the shop, checking his phone. He balanced two disposable cups in his other hand. Enjolras tried (and failed) to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when Grantaire looked up and saw him. A huge grin broke out on his face and he pushed himself off of the wall.

“Yo,” he greeted. “I hope you don’t mind, but I got two iced coffees. I figured you wouldn’t want hot coffee.” He glanced up at the blazing sun, grimacing.

“Definitely not,” Enjolras agreed. He almost dropped the coffee due to the condensation on the outside. “Thanks.”

“So,” Grantaire began, tapping the outside of his cup. “Wanna go for a walk? Go to that park I never remember the name of?”

“What, Monceau?” Enjolras asked, already walking away towards it. “Sounds good.”

The iced coffee was godsent in the heat, especially when they made it back into the crowded street. In the park, they found a shadow-y spot beneath a tree. Grantaire crunched on his ice cubes. He fell silent, twisting an unruly curl.

“So the reason I asked you here…” Grantaire paused, sighing. “I wanted to talk to you.”

A little devil on Enjolras' shoulder squeaked in anticipation; the rest of him told it to shut up. Grantaire looked nervous, twisting his hair and looking down in the grass. But he didn’t look excited, he looked almost scared.

“Do you remember when I sent in my applications for my masters?”

Enjolras nodded. Grantaire had laughed when he sent in the applications and gleefully proclaimed that: “Nothing annoys my father more than seeing all the precious money he put away for university go wasted on useless programs.”

“Yeah, well,” Grantaire swallowed, rolling the empty cup between his hands. “I may or may not also have applied to some universities abroad. And I got in.”

Enjolras felt a sour taste in his mouth. He tried desperately to push it away and put up a supporting smile on his face. Grantaire didn’t miss his initial expression.

“I know,” he said, looking down on his paint-stained hands. He scratched on a spec of dried red paint. It sat firmly on his hand. Sighing, he gave up, leaning back. “I know I said I was going to do my masters here but…”

Grantaire leaned forward again, as if unsure what to do with himself. Leaning on his knees, he looked Enjolras right in the eyes. 

“I got into Saint Martin’s, Enjolras. It’s one of the best art schools in the world. I can’t pass up this offer, I can’t-”

Enjolras leaned over, putting a hand on his arm. Grantaire fell silent, staring at him. “Go.”

“But…” Grantaire bit his lip. “What about…”

_What about the club? Our friends? What about us?_

“We’ll still be here when you come back,” Enjolras assured him. “All of us.” _I will still be here._ “You have to go. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Grantaire.”

“I know,” Grantaire mumbled. He laid down in the grass, staring up at the sky. Absentmindedly, he played with Enjolras’s hand still on his arm. “And I really want to go.”

“We’ll all keep in touch.” Enjolras wasn’t sure if he was assuring Grantaire or himself. “We’ll Skype, all of us together. And text each other. And you have breaks, right?”

“A couple.” Grantaire still stared up at the sky, not meeting his eyes. “The first one is at Christmas though.”

“Four months isn’t that long,” Enjolras tried and Grantaire just laughed.

“Sure. But thanks. And you’re right,” he said, squeezing Enjolras’ hand before letting go. “We’ll keep in touch.”

A strange silence fell between them. Not uncomfortable, but not comfortable either. Enjolras searched desperately for something to talk about. He came up empty. Finally, Grantaire pushed himself up, and they headed home, discussing superficial topics that came up along the way.

***

“Hello? Earth to Enjolras? Anyone home?”

The frantic waving in front of his face startled Enjolras out of his thoughts. Blinking, he turned to face Courfeyrac. “What?”

“Dude.” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, taking the plate from Enjolras’ hands. “You’ve been washing the same plate for three minutes. I’m sure it’s clean.” He reached in front of Enjolras again, this time to turn off the tap. Resting his arms on the countertop, he looked up at Enjolras from under a curtain of curls. “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras’ fingers itched to have something to fiddle with. Ignoring Courfeyrac’s expecting look, he began toying with the sponge until Courfeyrac took that away too.

“Don’t take it out on the poor sponge,” he said gently. “Okay, let’s do it this way instead. Is it about Grantaire?”

"Why do you and Combeferre always think it's about Grantaire?" Enjolras grumbled, turning away from Courfeyrac.

“Is it?”

Enjolras bit his lip, glaring at the floor. Being angry was easy. Anger was familiar, easier to accept and handle. He didn’t need to see the look Courfeyrac was giving him. It always made him look like a lost puppy, confused and wondering; impossible to lie to. Sighing, Enjolras sank down onto the floor.

“He’s moving to England.”

Courfeyrac started next to him. “What?” He sat down next to Enjolras, staring at him. “You’re kidding. No, of course you’re not,” he sighed when Enjolras glared at him. “Damn dude. That was not what I expected.”

“Yeah, well me neither.” He concentrated on picking at his nails and the skin around them. Joly would yell at him later. Tell him he’ll end up with all sorts of infections and whatnot. “Apparently he applied to some art schools there. Why wouldn’t he-” he gestured “-why wouldn’t he tell me?”

Courfeyrac leaned back onto the oven. “Knowing Grantaire, he probably didn’t think he’d get in. He probably didn’t want to get neither our nor his own hopes up and then, by his own logic, prove himself a failure. Did he say where he applied?”

“Saint Martins.”

“Damn,” Courfeyrac whistled. “Okay, I’m not going to give Grantaire right, but I get him. That’s not an easy school to get into. Jehan’s gonna freak.”

“Wouldn’t you still have told us, if you were the one applying?” Enjolras stopped picking on his nails when the angry Joly in his head got too loud. Instead he tried to hit the leg of a chair with popcorn kernels that had found their way onto the floor sometime yesterday.

“Well, yeah,” Courfeyrac grinned, shrugging. “But I’m me and Grantaire is Grantaire. But hey, Enjolras-” he carefully nudged Enjolras in the side “-master’s degrees in England are only one year. He’ll be home before we notice he’s gone,” Courfeyrac said, grimacing as soon as the words left his mouth. “No, bad choice of words. We’ll miss him. But you get my point.”

“What if he stays in England?” Finally he managed to hit the chair with the corn. Courfeyrac sighed next to him. “Also I think they are like, a full year. Twelve months.”

“Okay, I know you’re sulking but let’s not get depressed over something that hasn’t happened yet. And I mean, he’s got to have breaks.”

“I know, I know. It’s just…” He sighed, gesturing vaguely out in the air.

“You don’t get why he didn’t tell you and you’re upset because you feel like he isn’t trusting you,” Courfeyrac filled in. “And it makes you wonder where you guys are standing in this. You know, what your relationship is.”

“Basically.”

“Look dude, talk to him. You don’t _have_ to make a big romantic declaration of your love-” Courfeyrac glared at him when Enjolras snorted. “-hey, I know what you’re laughing about and I have to remind you; that sappy speech is how I got ‘Ferre.”

“He would have said yes to dating you either way,” Enjolras countered, a small smile creeping up on his face. “But sure, go on.”

“Thank you. My _point_ here was that you should talk to him, figure everything out before he leaves. Sappy speech not obligatory but recommended.”

A burst of laughter escaped Enjolras. He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. “Thanks Courf.”

Courfeyrac smiled back gently at him, with that look of relief in his eyes that he always got when he managed to cheer up a sad friend. “Any time,” he said. “Can I hug you?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Hugging sitting on the floor next to the counter wasn’t comfortable. Enjolras would have loved to say that it was, if just for Courfeyrac being so sweet. But the handle jabbing him right in the ribs made the whole affair uncomfortable.

“You two okay?” Combeferre’s voice came from the doorway. They both looked up at him, balancing several late-night-study-cups from his room in his hands. He raised an eyebrow, looking down at the two. Courfeyrac glanced at Enjolras, scanning for an indication of what to say.

“We’re good,” Enjolras said. One emotional talk at the time. Combeferre nodded, stepping over their feet to put the mugs next to the sink.

“Hey ‘Ferre,” Courfeyrac grinned, leaning forward to rest his head on his knees. “How much did my incredible speech to you contribute to you dating me?”

Combeferre looked down on them, trying and failing to give them an unimpressed look. The small smile tugging on his lips betrayed him. “It was the only reason.”

  
  


***

Grantaire’s shift started when Enjolras’ ended, close to every day. Out of all his friends, Grantaire was the one Enjolras had seen the least of during the summer. They tried to make it up by texting, both in the group chat and privately. Complaining about insane customers, joking about strange things that happened at work. Occasionally arguing about whatever political topic that came up. Still, it wasn’t the same.

But it did give Enjolras an excuse to put off having the big talk with Grantaire. Courfeyrac may preach the benefits of dramatic declarations of love; Enjolras would rather not do...that. And it wasn’t so much that he was putting it off as that he wanted to have the talk face to face. Phones were great for a lot of things, but not important conversations, if avoidable.

So that was how Enjolras ended up sitting there, on Courfeyrac and Jehan’s couch, at Grantaire’s goodbye party and still not having talked to him. Grantaire was standing with Joly, smiling and looking to be reassuring him about something. Enjolras stayed on the couch, twirling a half-empty bottle of beer between his hands. He pointedly ignored the pitying looks Combeferre and Courfeyrac kept sending him. The night passed by way too fast and all too slow at the same time.

“Well,” Grantaire said, clearing his throat. It was dark outside already. Everyone turned, looking expectantly at him. He stepped out into the middle of the room, fiddling with the bottle in his hands. “I um- well honestly I have no idea what to say. Thank you guys for this.” He gestured out in the room with the bottle. “I need to go home and get ready for my flight tomorrow but…” He cleared his throat again. “I really appreciate this. Thank you. Love you guys.” He stepped back again, but then Courfeyrac shouted for a group hug at the top of his lungs. Grantaire was tackled to the ground, laughing again.

“I’ll walk you home,” Enjolras offered when they all had managed to untangle themselves from each other. He kept his gaze on Grantaire, not needing to look at the rest to know about the all too knowing smiles on their faces.

“Sure. Thanks.” Grantaire let Enjolras drag him to his feet. He was promptly pulled down again by Joly, who refused to let go. It took many hugs and declarations of love before the two managed to get out the door.

The atmosphere around them changed the instant they closed the door behind them. The same strange silence as that day in the park fell over them as they walked. Grantaire kept kicking pebbles off the road, staring down into the pavement as they walked. Once again, Enjolras didn’t know what to fill the silence with. Their usual talk about work or debating politics seemed stupid. Asking more about the school seemed weird too. The walk from Courfeyrac and Jehan’s apartment to Grantaire’s seemed infinitely long, but ended far too abruptly all the same.

“So,” Grantaire began, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. “I guess this is where we say goodbye?”

What Enjolras wanted to say was: don’t say it like that, we’re not saying goodbye forever. What came out was a weak, “Yeah.”

“Don’t let anyone stumble and die when I’m gone,” Grantaire tried to joke. It sounded too strict and awkward to be funny. Enjolras still managed to force out a small laugh and promise him to keep an eye on them. Grantaire stood on the little stair in front of the door. That made them almost the same height.

“Hug?” Grantaire held out his arms, looking at Enjolras from under a curtain of curls. Enjolras could only nod, suddenly unsure if his voice would allow him to speak. Strong arms wrapped around him, and Enjolras did all he could to relax into the hug. Grantaire always smelled like tobacco and those oil pastels he painted with. Today was no different; it was comforting. The hug lasted way longer than most hugs. When Grantaire pulled away, Enjolras was hit by how cold the wind was. How warm Grantaire had been. Maybe he was imagining things, but Grantaire’s eyes looked a little teary.

“I’ll see you, Enjolras.”

And it became all too obvious to Enjolras that this was the last chance he had to say something, anything. The look Grantaire gave him was expecting, waiting. The words got stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” was all he could bring himself to say. “I’ll see you. Take care, Grantaire.”

A quick wave, and they both turned away. Maybe Grantaire turned back, maybe not. Enjolras never turned to see; he didn’t want to let Grantaire know he was crying as he walked away.

***

“Wow. Man I love you with all my heart. But wow, Enjolras. You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Thank, Courf.” Enjolras glared up from the book he was lying on. “I appreciate the sympathy.” He looked at Combeferre on the other end of the table.

“Sorry.” Combeferre shook his head. “I’m with Courfeyrac on this one.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras grumbled, letting his head fall down onto the book. Someone, likely Courfeyrac, patted him on the head.

“It’s going to be fine,” Courfeyrac assured him. “You can always call him.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Enjolras sighed. “I will.”

And then he didn’t.

He ignored Courfeyrac questioning glances. If he asked, Enjolras would swear up and down that he would call Grantaire as soon as he could. It had just been so much at the start of the new semester, with the club and with their studies. Enjolras wasn’t sure who he was directing the excuses towards; himself or Courfeyrac?

He found himself staring at Grantaire’s name in his contacts more than once, thumb hovering above the “Call” button. Each time, he ended up closing his phone without calling him. The longer he put it off, the worse it got. Maybe Grantaire didn’t want to talk to him and he would be intruding with a call. Or, worse, Enjolras would babble out everything he thought and felt and Grantaire would reject him. For all Enjolras knew, Grantaire might have found friends and more in London already. The temptation to call was great; the anxiety of what would come out of such a call was greater.

It was in one of those moments Combeferre stuck his head into Enjolras room. Enjolras quickly shut his phone. Combeferre didn’t notice, eyes trained on the pile of bills, brochures, and papers. He handed Enjolras a letter without even looking, looking through the rest of their mail at the same time.

“Some letter for you,” he said, fishing out another from the pile. “And probably your phone bill.”

“Thanks,” Enjolras managed, staring at the letter with wide eyes. Grantaire’s sprawling handwriting was distinct even from Marius’. He always managed to merge his small R:s with the following letter, making it look almost like an N.

He hadn’t noticed Combeferre leaving the room, but he was grateful to be alone and not endure teasing about the way he excitedly ripped the envelope open.

A small object fell to the floor before he could catch it. It bounced off with a metallic sound, slipping under his desk. Mumbling curses under his breath, he got down on the floor to reach for it. He almost hit his head on the desk in the process, but got the object.

It was a keyring, in the shape of a small Union Jack flag. A warm feeling Enjolras couldn’t quite place spread in his chest. What the dumbest, sweetest thing… Remaining on the floor, he reached up and grabbed the letter from the desk.

_Dear_ _Enjolras,_

_(Who the fuck even writes “dear” nowadays? 90-year-old grandmas? Anyway, hi.)_

_Sorry it took me a while to get this to you. I blame it on having a fuckton of things to do when I got here. Also sorry I haven’t called you. I swear I’ll do it any day now. Seriously. Anway, London is great. Some of the people in my class are pretentious pricks but honestly, what else would you expect? Pretentious school and all. I’ll give you a proper update soon._

_The keyring was something I found at a tourist store. I figured you might need to tone down the patriotism a little._

_I’m kidding. It was cute and fit in an envelope._

~~_And also you might need to tone the patriotism a little. Someone’s gonna think you have a thing for the country of France itself. Is that a thing? Some form of objectophilia? Okay I googled (incognito, don’t worry I’m not an idiot) and yeah that’s the closest thing._ ~~

_Anyway that got weird. I hope you and the rest are doing good at home._

_I’ll talk to you soon,_

_Grantaire_

A giggle escaped Enjolras, and he was glad Comebferre had left long ago. The giggle grew into silent laughter as he read the letter over and over again. He took up his phone again. This time he pressed “Call”.


	2. Autumn

_Dear Grantaire,_

_Because yes, we can still use dear. Why not?_

_I know we talked yesterday (as of the writing of this letter), but I’m glad you’re doing well in London. Like I said on the phone, it’s getting hectic here with school and everything, but we’re doing good. It’s odd without you in the meetings though. Cosette said today she kept turning to your chair when I said something, waiting for a response._

_Also, YOU should up your patriotism a little. Which is why I went to a kitschy tourist store and bought you a french flag keyring. You better not go all British on us just because you’re in London for a year._

_Talk to you soon,_

_Enjolras_

He’d re-written it five times. Walking through the university corridor reading it over, he almost tripped over his own feet several times on his way to the office. Lamarque was immersed in a thick book, jumping in his chair when Enjolras knocked on the open door.

“You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“I did,” Lamarque smiled, smoothing out his tie. “Please-” he gestured to the chair in front of the desk “-have a seat. Oh, and close the door, would you?”

Enjolras sank down into the armchair. It protested loudly, as old leather armchairs tend to. It was a nightmare to sit in during the hot summer. Still, Enjolras liked it. It made the office, packed with bookshelves, look even more like an old-fashioned library. He put his bag on the floor, watching Lamarque carefully close the book and put it to the side. Leaning forward onto his desk, Lamarque sighed. He stared down at his folded hands, a grim look on his face.

“Enjolras, you’re one of, if not the brightest student I have…” He began, and all Enjolras could think was _fuck fuck fuck he’s going to fail me and kick me out of school_. “Which is why I want to really consider what I’m about to ask you,” Lamarque said instead. He paused, almost hesitating before continuing.

“You know my wife.” Lamarque gestured to a photo on the desk. Him and his wife, smiling with the Grand Canyon in the background. “She’s ill. It’s not terminal,” he continued quickly. “Not yet. Still, I have decided to work less to be able to spend time with her before…” He trailed off, gesturing out in the air. He stared off into one of the bookshelves, falling silent for a moment. The heavy silence, and unspoken words, hung heavy over them. Enjolras didn’t know if he should break the silence. The old leather chair squeaked awkwardly when he moved. Lamarque turned his gaze back to him.

“What I want to ask of you, Enjolras-” Lamarque cleared his throat “-is a favour of sorts. I need someone to take over and teach my first-year students, the same program as yours. I’ve asked around the faculty, but as you know we have a shortage of staff right now and-”

“I’ll do it,” Enjolras interrupted. Lamarque blinked, leaning back a little. “I’ll do it,” Enjolras repeated. “The two of you have been nothing but kind to me these years and you’ve supported me through all my time here. I can never repay you. This is the least I can do for you. And I’m… I’m very sorry to hear she’s ill.”

“Thank you.” Despite the thickness in his voice, Lamarque smiled. “Thank you, Enjolras. This will only be temporary, until the school finds a licenced professor to lecture. But I’ll be glad until then to know that my students will be in capable hands.”

“You’re too kind, Professor. But again, of course I will do it.” He stood to shake Lamarque’s hand. “I hope your wife gets better soon,” he said, looking towards the photo again. “Give her my best.”

“I will,” Lamarque smiled, sitting down again. “On both our behalf, thank you again. I’ll email you the details, the schedule and everything. I have no doubt you’ll be an excellent teacher.”

***

“You’re an idiot,” Combeferre calmly told him when he came home and broke the news. He looked up from the article he was reading, giving him a tired look. “A noble idiot, but an idiot still.”

“Was I supposed to say no?” Enjolras glared. Combeferre folded the newspaper, putting it away with a sigh.

“No, of course not. I understand how important this is for you, I really do.” He gestured for Enjolras to sit. “You’re a workaholic though. I would rather not watch my best friend work himself to an early grave at twenty-three.”

“I know,” Enjolras mumbled, sliding down on the chair in front of Combeferre. “But I really couldn’t say no.” He rubbed his hands over his face. Combeferre sighed on the other end of the table.

“I know.” Combeferre got up, starting to fiddle with their coffee machine. “You’re too altruistic for your own good though.”

“I mean hey,” Enjolras protested, throwing his hands up defensively. The first smell of burnt coffee hit him. “It might look good on my resume too.”

“Uhu,” Combeferre said without looking out of the cupboard. “So you’re trying to convince me it wasn’t for purely altruistic reasons?”

“Is it working?”

Grinning, Combeferre put down a cup in front of him. “No.”

“Figures.” Enjolras smiled, shaking his head. He grabbed the cup, twirling it in his hands. It had a small crack on the top. So they needed to buy new cups too. Great. “I haven’t gotten the schedule from Lamarque, but I think I heard someone say the first years have a class Thursday afternoon.”

“So we’ll move the meeting,” Combeferre shrugged. He put down the pot of half-burnt coffee between them. “We’ll work around it. And should you miss a meeting at some point-” Combeferre shrugged again “-the world _might_ collapse, I admit. But I’m sure we can rebuild it again.”

Enjolras laughed, agreeing they could probably rebuild it should they need too. The letter to Grantaire stuck up from his bag. Right. He’d have to rewrite it again to tell Grantaire the news.

***

_Salutations, Enjolras_

_(How’s that for a substitute for dear?)_

_Dude. You’re a fucking idiot. I totally agree with Combeferre here, sorry man. No sympathy from me. Okay fine, a little sympathy. I get it, you can’t say no. Still, you better not work yourself to death. Who’s gonna save the planet if you’re dead? I’m sure as fuck not taking on that responsibilty and you don’t want risk Pontmercy attempting it, so you better stay alive._

_Also (and yes I wrapped this because I’m cool like that) I got you something. I figured you might need it in the near future. Good luck dealing with those first years!_

_Cosette might have mentioned this, but she suggested I could join a meeting via Zoom or something. So you can finally see my pretty face telling you your analysis of marxism vs feminism in international relations is crap! (Cosette said you discussed women’s role in the international economy?) Don’t punch the screen though, that might get you in some trouble._

_I’ll call/text you later,_

_Grantaire_

The package in his hand was clearly a book. It was wrapped in a glossy white paper with tiny french lilies on it. They reflected gold when hit by the light. Carefully, Enjolras took the tape off to open the gift. It was indeed a book, and Enjolras couldn't help but laugh when he turned it over and read the title.

_Teaching for Dummies: A practical guide to the art of getting your students to give a crap._

Still laughing to himself, he flipped through the pages promising to enlighten him about lecturing. He snapped a picture of the book and sent it to Grantaire.

**Enjolras (19:03)**

Thanks for the book lol. Did you write it? The title sure sounds like you.

The notification came before he’d even put it down.

**Grantaire (19:03)**

i wish lol! i’d be rich. probably.

how you doing?

**Enjolras (19:04)** **  
** I’m good. You?

And a second later, before Grantaire had answered, he hastily added:

**Enjolras (19:04)**

Do you want to talk on the phone instead of over text?

**Grantaire (19:05)**

sure

Grantaire’s name came up on the display. He pressed allow and was immediately met by deafening music blasting in the background. A door slammed shut, and the music faded.

“Sorry,” Grantaire said. Enjolras could imagine the grimace on his face. “I’m at some ‘hey welcome new students’ thing. Anyway, how you doing?”

“I’m good.” Enjolras leaned back in his chair, grabbing a pen from his desk to fiddle with. It had run out of ink ages ago, but it was perfect to fiddle with. “You?”

“Stellar,” Grantaire laughed. “You wouldn’t believe the level of nerdiness here. Everyone seems terribly pretentious at first glance, but ask anyone about any art stuff and you’ll never get them to stop talking.”

“That sounds nice.” Something, probably a bumblebee bumped against his window, catching his attention. He was glad to be inside; it looked terribly cold out, the wind tearing at the tree branches. He hoped it was less cold in London.

“It is.” A pause. “So, are you surviving without me at the meetings?”

Enjolras snorted, and Grantaire laughed at the other end. “We’ve already taken the first step towards anarchy.”

“Hey, I’m the guy responsible for the anarchy.” Grantaire’s grin found its way into his voice. “If anything, you guys should have made the first moves to become a totalitarian regime.”

“With me as the leader?” He threw the pen, spinning it in the air. “Really?”

“No, Pontmercy, who else?” Grantaire said, dead serious, and Enjolras dropped the pen from laughing. “ _You_ would be the Marxist in shining armour, swooping in to preach about classism and the rights of the people.”  
  


Picking up the pen, Enjolras shook his head smiling, even if Grantaire couldn't see him. Grantaire snickered on the other end. It sounded like he began to say something, but suddenly the loud music came back, drowning him out. Someone yelled ‘Grantaire’, followed by a string of English that Enjolras didn’t pick up on. The person came closer, and the words ‘gotta play’, ‘get off your phone’ and ‘boyfriend’ found their way into the conversation. Enjolras pretended to not hear the last, grateful Grantaire couldn’t see his face heating up over the phone. Laughing, Grantaire effortlessly switched to English. He promised the person to be there soon. They seemed to accept, as the conversation stopped and the music faded again.

“Sorry,” he said, switching back to French. “I gotta go do… Honestly I’m not even sure. Get publicly humiliated, probably.”

“Probably,” Enjolras agreed. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“For sure,” Grantaire promised, ending the call.

***

He had twenty minutes until his first class. Lamarque let Enjolras use his office during the days he was teaching. He’d have a place to revise his notes for class, correct tests, and plan the next class. It was a sweet gesture, but sitting on Lamarque’s side of the desk felt wrong. Enjolras had spent many afternoons on the other side, discussing everything from essays to the current political climate. To sit where Lamarque always sat felt like he was taking over his role, his place. In a way, he was, of course. But had it only been the teaching part, it would have seemed more like he was a temporary substitute. Not a permanent one.

He fiddled with the keychain Grantaire had gotten him. He hadn’t put any keys on it yet, mostly because he couldn’t get them off his old one. It sort of reflected light when the sun hit it right. He stared at it, grateful to have something to focus on. Not the way the room looked much bigger from this angle, or the way he bumped his knees against the desk. The chair seemed frozen at this height. He could just stare at those colourful lines of the Union Jack and forget the rest of the world. It was reassuring.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Grantaire (13:47)**

today is your first class right?? GOOD LUCK!!! i’m sure you’ll ace it

It was swiftly followed by a huge number of various emojis. Hearts, confetti, what looked to be a teacher. Smiling, he stood and gathered his things. He responded as he walked towards the classroom.

**Enjolras (13:53)**

It is. Thanks!

He considered telling Grantaire about the keyring he still held in his hand. It felt almost like a good luck charm of sorts. He quickly decided against it, showing it into his pockets. That was way too cheesy.

The class was already packed and noisy when he stepped in. At first, they didn’t seem to react. When he walked up towards the podium, they noticed him. They fell silent, watching him. A sudden wave of anxiety hit him. He hadn’t felt something like this since the first time he held a speech to a hundred people in second grade. The whispering began amongst the students.

Why on Earth did he agree to this? He couldn’t replace Lamarque. Who was he, a third year student, to teach a subject he himself learnt two years ago? A subject which Lamarque had studied for over forty years. The words got stuck in his throat. This was different from holding speeches as he usual did. This wasn’t just holding a speech, it was teaching with said speech. Why did he agree to this?

He shifted his stance, and the flag in his pocket stabbed it’s corner into his leg. The pain startled him, stopping his train of thoughts. Right. He took a deep breath, squeezing the flag in his hand. He could do this.

“Right,” he cleared his throat. The mumbling amongst the students stopped. “As you probably know, Lamarque won’t be teaching this class the remaining part of this semester. My name is Enjolras. I will be your teacher for the coming two and a half months, until Christmas break. Nice to meet you all.”

His phone went off seconds after he left class.

**Grantaire (16:02)**

how did it go???

Smiling to himself, he tried to balance his papers and type at the same time.

**Enjolras (16:02)**

It went great! They listened! And took notes! And one girl came up to me after and said she thought I was an excellent lecturer!

**Grantaire (19:03)**

that’s great!! i’m so proud of you!!

A second text followed a second later.

**Grantaire (16:03)** **  
** also are you sure she wasn’t just flirting with you?

He typed a response and pressed send before he even could process what he’d written.

**Enjolras (16:04)**

What, are you jealous?

He read over the message. Once, twice, and once again. And all he could think was _shit_ because now he screwed up for sure. He’d probably overstepped a line. And Grantaire, usually so quick on the phone, hadn’t answered.

**Enjolras (16:06)**

Because she had a lesbian pride flag on her bag, so if you are it’s severely missdirected.

He almost walked past Lamarque’s office because his eyes were still glued to the phone. Somehow he managed to close the door with his papers, his bag and his phone all in his arms. When he got the text, he flinched so hard he almost dropped all of it.

**Grantaire (16:11)**

ooo another (socialist?) gay!! we do stan that, invite her to the club

the amnesty club, i mean, not the socialist gay club

tho i guess, same difference

Enjolras sent him a text back agreeing that yes, same difference. Slumping down into Lamarque’s chair, he threw his phone and then himself onto the desk.

“Great,” he muttered when he pushed himself back up. “Real smooth there, Enjolras, real smooth.”

He had never been so grateful for an incoming call as when he saw Lamarque’s name on the screen. It provided him with both an excellent distraction from his own thoughts and he got to tell Lamarque about the lesson. The only thing that could top Grantaire telling Enjolras he was proud of him, was Lamarque doing the same.

***

_Dear Grantaire,_

_How’s London in the autumn? Have you settled in with your “pretentious but nerdy” classmates yet?_

_Teaching is going surprisingly well. All the students are really dedicated. They ask good questions and come with clever arguments. It still feels a bit weird to be on this side of the podium but I guess I’ll get used to it. There’s a guy in my class I think you would like. He keeps trying to counter my arguments and I_ _swear_ _it’s only for the argument's sake. Hopefully at least it makes people think and reflect over their arguments._

_(And, because I know you’ll ask, yes I read the book. It was surprisingly helpful.)_

_Cosette is still nagging me about setting up Zoom for you to join us for a meeting. I swear I’m working on it. It would be nice to see you at a meeting again. I just can’t figure Zoom out._

_Talk to you soon,_

_Enjolras_

He really couldn’t seem to get used to sitting in Lamarque’s chair. It had been a whole month and he still couldn’t get used to it. Teaching was easier. He’d seen dozens of professors behind that podium; it wasn’t as personal as Lamarque’s own chair in his own office. Looking up from the letter he was writing, he let his gaze wander across the room. It really was a nice office. Maybe one day he could get his own office like this. Somewhere he wouldn’t feel like an imposter.

Lamarque had told him he’d gotten great praise from both students and faculty members. The girl with the lesbian flag still came up to him to discuss things after class, along with several others. Maybe he really could become a professor one day.

_It’s surprisingly rewarding to teach,_ he added to the letter. _I really like it. It’s a different response to when I usually speak but… It’s nice. Knowing you’ve educated someone and actually taught them something, not just preached what they already mostly believe._

Maybe he should send Grantaire some sweets with this letter. Cosette had already sent him some after he complained about missing proper French candy but… Some more couldn't hurt.

***

_Greetings, Enjolras,_

_THANK YOU! Do you know how much I’ve missed this chocolate?? I can’t find it ANYWHERE! You can’t see me but I’m crying tears of happiness._

_Oh man, I need to buy this guy a beer when I get back. Or a high five. Both. Slightly sad someone’s already replaced me but hey, be honest with me, are his arguments as good as mine? (He’s a first year, my bet is on not.)_

_My classmates are fucking great. Just this morning this one guy and I talked about the underwear painter in the sistine chapel for a whole hour. (I know you probably don’t know what I’m talking about, just know it’s really funny all right?) Like, you know I love you guys with all my heart but dude. Not even Jehan wants to talk about shit like this with me._

_And yeah, that’d be awesome. I miss telling you guys how shitty your arguments are._

_Kidding. It would be nice to join you though, so just text me once you’ve figured it out or something?_

_Talk to you soon,_

_Grantaire_

***

The wind howled outside his window. It was already getting dark outside despite being barely five pm. For all Enjolras liked autumn, with the milder temperatures and stunning colours, the darkness wasn’t quite as welcome. Besides, the stunning colours were all but gone now, mid-November. Paris was left as a gray, bleak old photo.

It would probably start raining soon, he thought in dismay, staring out the window. He turned his gaze back to the empty paper in front of him. There were already five discarded drafts of this letter in the bin. He just didn’t know what to write.

“ _Slightly sad someone’s already replaced me but hey, be honest with me, are his arguments as good as mine?”_

_You could never be replaced._

No, that was too cheesy and too obviously romantic in nature.

_His arguments could never be compared to yours._

Same issue, plus it just sounded weird.

_Your arguments are much better, don’t worry._

Fine. That would work. It sounded okay. Groaning, he dropped his pencil and let his head fall into his hands. Why was it so difficult to write letters?

A knock on the door forced him to look up. Courfeyrac stuck his head in.

“Hey man,” he said, stepping in. “Ready for Lord of the Rings?”

“Yeah, of course.” He tried to shove the letter away, but Courferac had already caught sight of it.

“Are you…” He peaked over Enjolras’ shoulder where he tried to push the letter away. “Are you writing Grantaire a _letter_?”

“Okay don’t laugh.” He gave Courfeyrac a stern look. He was met with a look claiming ‘I would never’. They both knew it was a lie. “But yes. I am.”

Courfeyrac’s lips twitched as he tried and mostly succeeded to contain a smile. “That is _so_ sweet. May I ask why?”

Enjolras shrugged. Outside, it started to rain. It patterned against his window. “He sent me a present along with a letter and we just… Continued exchanging them.” He had forgotten about the bar of chocolate next to the letter, until Courfeyrac nodded towards it.

“With little gifts?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh my god.” Courfeyrac threw himself dramatically onto Enjolras’ bed. Enjolras bit back the remark about just having made it. “Enjolras you’re killing me, this is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes at him, pretending to not notice the colour creeping up in his cheeks.

“Can I ask,” Courfeyrac began as he pushed himself up. “And this is not a criticisms, because lord knows we need more Victorian-esque gay letter exchanging in the world. But have you ever heard of phones?”

“We do text each other too. And call. Sometimes.”

“My heart.” Courfeyrac clutched his chest. “You’re living the fantasy, Enjolras. But so you guys have like-” he gestured towards Enjolras and the letter “-talked?”

The pause and Enjolras sucking in a breath was all the answer Courfeyrac needed. He closed his eyes, sighed and pressed two fingers to his forehead.

  
“Enjolras,” he said slowly, “I am begging you. From the bottom of my heart. And ‘Ferre’s, he agrees with me. You know I’m a sucker for this kind of drama in fiction but please if you would just _communicate_.”

Enjolras was about to argue that Coufeyrac really couldn’t be so sure Grantaire would want to be with him, when Combeferre opened the door.

“Listen,” he said, waving a remote. “I’m pressing play in sixty seconds and whoever isn’t on the couch doesn’t get any popcorn.”

As they scrambled to their feet, Courfeyrac caught Enjolras’ eyes. He did his best to ignore the ‘call him’, Courfeyrac mouthed at him.

***

“Is it working?” Grantaire’s voice sounded slightly weird over Enjolras' shitty computer speaker. “Can you guys hear me?”

“We can,” several of them confirmed in unison, laughing when they heard it. They’d all crammed together more than usual for a meeting, sitting as tightly as possible to allow everyone to see the screen.

“How are you?” Cosette asked at the same time as Courfeyrac asked about London and Joly asked about his class. Grantaire laughed, assuring them that he was fine, London was great, and his class was amazing.

“How about we keep the small talk to the break?” He suggested, shooting Enjolras a playful look. “I’ve been waiting all day for the opportunity to kick your asses in this debate.”

There was an energy to this debate that hadn’t been there for several meetings. Enjolras hadn’t even noticed it wasn’t there. But today, they were all on fire. Tossing ideas and arguments back and forth, gesturing widely. (That turned out to be a problem when they sat so close. They constantly managed to hit each other.) Enjolras lived for it. It was hard to meet Grantaire’s eyes through the camera, but his eyes seemed to sparkle too. Enjolras had missed this.

As the debate slowly died down, the focus shifted more and more towards Grantaire and his life in London. Enjolras knew of most of it through letters and texting. He sat quiet, still listening to Grantaire tell them about the art and his classmates. He’d heard it all before, but now he could see Grantaire as he told them. Watch him gesticulate wider as he got excited, see his eyes sparkle and his mouth turn into a wide grin.

“Oh, and, by the way,” Grantaire said and Enjolras was suddenly aware he hadn’t heard a word he said in five minutes. Hopefully, no one had noticed him staring at Grantaire. Especially not Grantaire himself. “I’ve booked tickets home for Christmas.” The camera made it impossible to tell, but Enjolras liked to think Grantaire was looking straight at him. “I’ll be home in three weeks.”


	3. Winter

Enjolras knew it was December, not because his phone said so or because the only thing on the radio was Christmas music. And it wasn’t because it was snowing outside either. No, it was because at precisely one minute past twelve, Enjolras got a text from Courfeyrac.

**_In “Eggcellent Squad”_ ** **_  
  
_**

**Courfeyrac (00:01)**

IT'S FUCKING CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

A long string of gifs, connection to Christmas varying, followed.

  
So yeah, Enjolras knew it was December.

He sent a Santa emoji just to please Courfeyrac and set his phone to ‘do not disturb’. Rubbing his hands over his face, he glanced out the window. It was pitch black and all he saw was his own tired reflection. He should probably go to sleep.

He glanced down on the papers in front of him. He’d been grading the last test from the semester. It was a rather short test, but he’d been making sure to write a little note to each student on the test.

“ _Good job this semester!”_

_“Keep up the good work next year!”_

_“I can see you’ve worked hard; you’ve improved a lot over the course.”_

Lamarque always did so on the last test of the semester. Who was Enjolras to break tradition? They had been great motivators for the next semester too.

He was really tired though. Glancing at the time and down on the stack again, he made a quick decision. He could grade them tomorrow.

Stumbling and crashing down on the bed, he was just about to fall asleep when the thought hit him. It was December and December meant Christmas.

He had to find Grantaire a good gift.

***

“Who are you and what have you done to Enjolras?”

Enjolras looked up from his laptop to glare at Combeferre. He got a pair of raised eyebrows and a nod towards his laptop in response.

“You, Enjolras, are looking for what I can only assume is a Christmas gift? In the beginning of December? Without getting an allergic reaction to the sheer capitalism of it all?”

“Oh hush.” Enjolras rolled his eyes, turning back to the online store. He’d concluded one thing so far: he knew nothing about art supplies. “I want to find something for Grantaire.”

“No shit.”

Combeferre coughed awkwardly when Enjolras glared at him again. “I mean, oh really? I never would have guessed.”

“Has Joly sent out the Secret Santa partners yet?” he asked instead of acknowledging Combeferre’s taunt. He could practically feel the grin Combeferre was undoubtedly sporting.

“Nope. I’ll ask him about it.” Combeferre began walking away, but stopped to look back at Enjolras. “Also, I’d text Jehan if I were you. They know their art supplies.”

“Thanks, man.” Enjolras closed his laptop with a sigh and went to text Jehan. Within ten minutes, he had an array of supplies to choose from. Jehan had, thankfully, sent him a link to some watercolours they knew Grantaire loved. Enjolras couldn’t differentiate them from the rest but he trusted Jehan. Apparently you also needed special paper, for reasons Enjolras didn’t quite understand. Jehan assured him Grantaire definitely had those. Enjolras was immensely glad he wasn’t an artist.

***

_Top of the morning, Enjolras_

_I know I’m going to be home in just a week (less when you get this), but I found this_ _adorable_ _little Rudolph toy. His nose lights up if you press his stomach._

_And I don’t know, I wanted to send one last letter before I come home? We’re continuing this next semester too, right? Courfeyrac laughed at me (and I’m assuming you too) because it’s very old fashioned but I dunno… I kinda like it?_

_I can’t wait to get home though. I have so many ugly selfies to show you guys and dumb stories to tell. And I’m really looking forward to hearing what you guys have been up to (although I assume you’ve been keeping me up to speed, right? You better have)._

_I’ll (literally!!!) see you soon!!_

_Grantaire_

He tried to turn on the light, but it seemed to have broken. Maybe the battery had died in the transport. It was probably cold enough to kill such a small battery (of, probably, bad quality). It had been snowing like crazy for the past few days. It made Paris look like an idyllic Christmas card.

Snapping a picture of the reindeer, he was about to send it to Grantaire when he got a call.

“Hello, professor,” Enjolras answered with a smile. “How are you?”

“Quite well,” Lamarque answered, despite sounding like a dying crow. “Or well, as you can hear, I have quite the cold. Nothing bad, but I’m not leaving my home for a while. I would have wanted to stop by and congratulate you on a job well done, but it seems I’m restricted to doing so over the phone.”

“Oh.” A warm feeling spread in Enjolras chest. “Thank you, professor.”

Lamarque chuckled on the other end. “I’m simply telling you how it is. I’ve heard nothing but praise from your students and the other teachers. Your last class is tomorrow right? I’m sure they’ll make sure to tell you themselves.”

Enjolras knew he must be grinning like an idiot. He stroked the reindeer over its head to ground himself and not start giggling like a teenager. “Again, thank you professor. I’m glad I’ve done a good job.”

“I’m proud of you,” Lamarque said and Enjolras was five seconds from crying. “I’ll see you after the break. I do want to talk to you in person. Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”

“Merry Christmas, professor.”

Ending the call, he sent the picture to Grantaire, adding a long and excited text about the call he just received.

***

“And since this is the last class of this semester, I’ll let you off earlier. Great job, everyone. You’ve all done splendid work and I’m sure you all will continue to do so.”

Whatever he’d imagined, it was not scattered cheers and whistles. Laughing, he began to collect his things. Someone cleared their throat and he realised all students were still seated.

“Sir, we have something to say to you too, actually.” A girl stood. He searched every corner of his brain trying to remember her name; to make matters worse he recognised her as one of the most attentive students. He almost missed when she continued, too preoccupied with figuring out her name.

“We know you’re technically just a student like us, but we think you’ve been a really good teacher. So we got together as a class and got you something.”

She lifted a little bag, tripping down the stairs to the podium. She grinned widely as he peered into the bag. In it was a box of chocolate and what looked to be some other form of candy.

“Oh, wow,” he gaped, looking out over the grinning class. “You guys… Got this for me?”

“Of course.”

“Wow.” His gaze flickered back and forth between the bag and his class. He was definitely _not_ tearing up. “Thank you guys so much. This is so sweet of you, thank you all so much.”

“Merry Christmas, teach,” the class said in unison. They burst out laughing when he almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of over fifty students speaking at once. He left the classroom, after several high fives and hugs, smiling so widely it hurt.

Paris truly looked like a Christmas card as he walked home.

***

It felt less like a Christmas card the days following. At this point, the snow was so high it was impossible to walk in normal boots without them filling with snow. Taking the train was out of the question; you were lucky if it was only ten minutes late. It was still beautiful in itself, but it really made for quite the inconvenience.

At least Grantaire was coming home in the evening. The watercolours Enjolras had ordered were wrapped neatly in some obnoxious wrapping paper Combeferre had bought. He kept glancing over to them, eager to see Grantaire’s face when he opened the gift. Christmas was still two days away, but he figured he’d given Grantaire his before, to not mix it with the secret santa. That gift (to Combeferre) was hidden away so far into Enjolras' closet Courfeyrac believed it might disappear to Narnia. But the one to Grantaire was sitting on top of his desk and he kept glancing over to it. He was more excited for giving away that one than getting his own for the secret santa. He really hoped Jehan was right and Grantaire liked those watercolours.

He was watching the snowfall outside his window when his phone went off.

“Hey,” he said, feeling his lips turn up into a grin. He was glad no one was around to see him, he had to be looking like an idiot. “What’s up?”

There was a slight pause before Grantaire spoke. “Well…” He began and unease began creeping up Enjolras’ spine. “There’s a small problem.”

“Oh?” Nightmare scenarios played in Enjolras mind. Grantaire was sick. Grantaire was in the hospital. Each scenario worse than the last.

“You see,” Grantaire continued. “I just got an email from my airline. They’re cancelling all flights.”

Enjolras choked on his breath. “What?”

Grantaire sighed heavily on the other end and Enjolras could picture him nervously running his free hand through his hair. “Yeah.” He sounded bitter. “It’s the snow. I don’t know about Paris, but it’s an absolute shitstorm here. The snowfall is crazy and it shows no signs of stopping. The wind is insane too.”

As if on cue, a muted howl of the wind was heard across the phone. “Oh,” was all Enjolras could get out.

“Yeah.”

They both fell silent. Enjolras stared out the window. The snow that had previously looked so beautiful and welcoming turned grey and ugly. It wasn’t windy, but Enjolras supposed it was only a matter of time. Rustling and feather squeaking on the other end suggested Grantaire had thrown himself onto his bed. Enjolras really felt like doing the same, possibly going into hibernation.

“Are you going to get a refund?” he asked, to have something to say. He turned his gaze away from the grey snow and picked out the keychain to fiddle with.

“Dunno,” Grantaire muttered. “Didn’t check the email more than the ‘all flights cancelled’ part.”

“Fair enough.”

They fell silent again.

“I’m guessing there’s no other way for you to get home, right?”

“Nope,” Grantaire said, making the word pop. “So that’s fun.”

“Yeah we’re...we’re gonna miss you. Do you at least have someone to spend Christmas with?”

“Yeah, I think so at least. I’ll ask around. There are probably other people who have gotten fucked over by the snow.” A pause. “It won’t be the same though.”

“No it...same here. It won’t be the same without you here either.”

Silence.

“It fucking sucks.”

“It really does.”

Enjolras desperately searched for something to say. He came up empty on all fronts. What do you even say in a situation like this? The silence suggested Grantaire was struggling to respond too. Still, it was he who eventually broke the silence.

“I’ll look for options for after new years,” he said, trying to sound positive. “Maybe I have an extended weekend somewhere.”

“Good plan,” Enjolras agreed, also trying to sound positive. “Hope you find something.”

“So do I. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

“Sounds good.” The false positivity made the whole conversation sound plastic. “Take care.”

“You too.”

Enjolras threw his phone onto his bed. It bounced, flying off the bed and onto the thin carpet. He didn’t bother to check if it had broken. Knowing iPhones, it probably had. The little keyring in his hand suddenly felt too warm and pointy. He tossed it onto the desk. Looking out the window again, he felt like going out and punching the snow that he’d been so happy about yesterday.

The knock on the door startled him so bad he flinched and hit his leg on the desk. Cursing and rubbing it, he didn’t even bother to look at who it was.

“Yo, buddy,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “I made some hot chocolate- dude are you alright?”

“What?” It came out way harsher than he had intended. Courfeyrac looked taken aback. “Sorry,” Enjolras hurried to add. He grimaced, both at his own tone and the way his leg still hurt. “Wasn't aimed at you.”

“Alright.” Courfeyrac gently pushed the door closed. He put down the mug next to Enjolras on the desk and sat down on the bed, facing him. “So who was it aimed at?”

“No one. Everyone.” Enjolras gestured out the window and nearly knocked over the mug as he did. “The freaking snow.”

“Okay…” Courfeyrac began, stretching out the word. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say this isn’t your usual ‘Christmas is the peak of capitalism’.”

“No, but thanks for reminding me.” Enjolras took a sip of the hot chocolate and did his best not to grimace. Courfeyrac had probably made it for himself and Combeferre, but decided to make enough for Enjolras too. Enjolras appreciated the gesture, and the fact that Courfeyrac took time to check up on him. But Courfeyrac had a habit of putting more sugar than cacao in his hot chocolate. He hoped the look he sent Courfeyrac was appreciative and not disgusted. The small smile tugging on Courfeyrac’s lips told Enjorlas he didn’t fully succeed. He gave Enjolras an encouraging look to continue.

“It’s Grantaire’s flight,” Enjolras admitted with a bitter sigh. “They’ve cancelled it because of the snow.”

“Whoa-come again?” Courfeyrac jerked the mug down, spilling a little on his jeans in the process. “It’s what now?”

“Cancelled. He’s not coming home.”

“Seriously? Oh man… That’s the worst.” Courfeyrac’s eyes darted over to the gift on the table. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. So that’s fun,” he said, echoing Grantaire from moments earlier. “Wow, isn’t Christmas a cheerful time?”

“Hey…” Courfeyrac began, but Enjolras held up a hand to stop him.

“Courf, I love you and appreciate that you want to cheer me up but… Not right now.”

The hurt puppy look only passed by on Courfeyrac’s face momentarily. Then he nodded understandingly and stood. “Alright. We’re outside watching Love Actually, if you want to join.”

“Thanks, Court.” He bit back the remark that watching happy couples at airports was the last thing he wanted to see right now, but put on the most reassuring smile he could. Courfeyrac smiled back, closing the door behind him.

Enjolras glared at the gift on the desk. He’d send it some other way, of course. Between the snow making travel hard and it being Christmas there was no telling when Grantaire would get it.

The upbeat intro to Love Actually started playing and with a groan, Enjolras grabbed his headphones and threw himself onto his bed. He found the angriest playlist he could find, hoping it would drown out the cheerful Christmas music playing in the apartment.

***

Jehan already smelled of alcohol when they welcomed them at the door. They almost sent all three of them to the floor, trying to hug both Enjolras and Combeferre at the same time. “Welcome,” Jehan greeted with a big smile once they’d all steadied themselves. “And Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Combeferre smiled gently as he handed Jehan the bag of gifts. They disappeared into back the apartment, trying to peek into the bag. Combeferre and Enjolras shrugged off their jackets and stepped into the living room. _Last Christmas_ was already blasting from the speakers. Jehan and Courfeyrac had really done a great job with the decorations. Enjolras knew the tree was plastic, but it was so covered in decorations it was hard to tell. It was a wonder it didn’t collapse under the sheer weight of it.

The rest of the apartment was also converted in decorations from the floor to the ceiling. Glitter, little Santa statues, shining stars and candy canes; everything you could want and imagine as a decoration. It was obnoxiously cheerful in the best way possible.

Courfeyrac wasted no time pressing a glass of mulled wine in each of their hands. Before Enjolras knew it, he was chatting and laughing with Joly and Bossuet about some Bossuet decoration mishap. It was cosy and comfortable. It really felt like home.

He was in the kitchen getting more wine when he got the notification from Instagram.

**grand-R posted something for the first time in a while**

Without really thinking, he opened the app. The wine turned sour in his mouth. The picture was, by all means, cheerful, Grantaire standing in front of a tree with three other people in ugly sweaters. _Stuck in London, thankfully with these crazy people to make it Christmas anyway. Merry Xmas!_

He didn’t realise how long he’d been staring until Jehan popped in, asking what he was doing. Enjolras didn’t put his phone away quick enough. Jehan saw the picture and let out a dejected sigh.

“You know he’d rather be here. He’s posting that to cheer up himself.”

“I know, I know,” Enjolras muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“I’m not going to let you stand around being sad the rest of the evening,” Jehan declared. They were standing with their hands on their hips, which might have been intimidating if not for the fact that they were… well, Jehan. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, trying not to giggle at the sight of Jehan. The sweater with antlers reading ‘oh deer’ didn’t help. But maybe that was what Jehan was trying to achieve, because as soon as they saw Enjolras smile, they dropped their hands and smiled back.

“Good. I’m gonna make mint hot chocolate. Help me?”

“ _Mint_ hot chocolate?”

“The mint comes from vodka.”

“Aha,” Enjolras snorted. “Figures.”

Jehan grinned, picking out the ingredients. The two began working in comfortable silence, making two pots at once.

“Hey, Jehan?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you.”

Jehan grinned, handing him some chocolate to try. “Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”

***

Two weeks later he was back at Jehan and Courfeyrac’s apartment for another party. It was a little more than an hour until the clock would strike twelve and Enjolras started feeling like there was no oxygen left in the apartment. The cold air hit him when he stepped out on the balcony. The metal chair was cold as ice and the jeans didn’t help when he sat down on it. Here and there, a sole firework went off and there were parties going on in apartments all around the block. Still, it was quiet and peaceful compared to inside. He scrolled through Instagram for a bit. Courfeyrac had already begun posting drunken videos of them on his story. The latest one was from only five minutes ago, of poor Joly getting absolutely obliterated in a game with Bossuet. Grantaire had something posted to his story too. Ignoring the little voice in his head reminding him of the last time he checked Grantaire’s Instagram at a party, Enjolras clicked on the little circle around Grantaire’s profile picture.

It was a video of Grantaire’s London apartment, a small group of people playing Cards Against Humanity. _Today_ , read a little box of text _._ The second was a similar video, but from last year, in Jehan and Courfeyrac’s apartment. _Last year._ A terribly clumsy selfie followed, with a little box reading _Conclusion: all sins must be unleashed before the next year. Happy New, y’all!_

Chuckling, he decided to send a response to his story. His fingers were already getting stiff from the cold, but he still managed to type it out.

**Enjolras (23:02)**

I thought you didn’t believe in those ‘new year new me’ things

**Grantaire (23:03)**

only when it comes to my sins tally

**Enjolras (23:03)**

So you’ll become a new, holy human in two hours?

**Grantaire (23:04)**

how very DARE you suggest i’m not constantly holy

it’s very rude, enjolras

very rude

He was typing his response, fingers cold and shaking from laugher when Grantaire called.

“Hey,” Enjolras laughed as he picked up. “I do dare say you’re not constantly holy. I’ll remind you, you’ve said yourself looking forward to the day you take your rightful throne in Hell.”

“Shhh.” Some yelled in the background, almost drowning out Grantaire's next words. “It’s new years, don’t you bring up the past.”

"You're literally further away from the new year than I am."

"Details my dear, details.”

“Sure.” He made his voice as sarcastic as he could, and Grantaire giggled. Enjolras felt himself melt at the sound of Grantaire’s tipsy giggle. It was way too adorable to be legal.

“I wish I could have been with you guys,” Grantaire added after a second’s pause, sighing.

“Yeah. We miss you.” A heavy silence hung over them for a second. “How’s the party you’re at?”

“Oh no, it’s great don’t get me wrong.” A door slammed shut. “Jesus fuck it’s cold. Anyway, it’s great but… It’s not with you.”

“I get it.” The atmosphere hung too sombre and heavy around them. Enjolras cleared his throat, hoping he sounded happier when he continued. “Have you been up to anything fun though?”

Grantaire launched into a description of all the stuff he and his friends had been up to during the evening. Slowly the sombre atmosphere disappeared. Grantaire told him about their game of Cards Against Humanity. The other exchange student at their program was an innocent German girl who’s English sometimes lacked; the poor girl had to Google some of the cards. Enjolras countered by telling him about a disastrous game of Never Have I Ever during which the question of faking orgasms had come up.

Before he knew it, the number of fireworks picked up and suddenly the door slammed up.

“Dude,” Courfeyrac yelled right in his ear. Had the music been so loud when he stepped outside? “Five minutes left, get your ass in here. Bring Grantaire in with you, put him on facetime.”

“Did you catch that?” Enjolras asked Grantaire when Courfeyrac closed the door again.

“I did,” Grantaire laughed. “Hang on, let me switch to video.”

The sudden brightness from his phone when Grantaire switched to video made Enjolras’ eyes sting. Grantaire’s smile was almost as blinding as the light. His hair was tousled and hanging in his face and all Enjolras could think was _holy crap I’m so in love with this guy._

“Good to see you,” he said, feeling his lips break out in a grin to rival Grantaire’s.

“You too. Now do as Courf said and get your ass inside.”

The warmth inside was welcoming. The others flocked around him as soon as they saw Grantaire, trying to wish him a happy new year. They all mostly ended up just yelling over each other, right in Enjolras’ ear.

Someone on the tv started counting down and soon everyone joined. Enjolras’ eyes flickered between Grantaire and the rest. Grantaire was laughing, looking over Enjolras’ shoulder the rest of them. They were all in various stages of intoxication, clinging over each other as they counted down.

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

“Happy new year!”

Enjolras almost fell over when Courfeyrac tried to hug both him and Combeferre at once. Laughing, he untangled himself and turned away when Courfeyrac gave Combeferre a very passionate kiss.

“Happy new year, Enjolras.” Grantaire’s eyes sparkled.

“Happy new year, Grantaire.”

***

_Howdy, Enjolras_

_Merry Christmas (again!)! I’m sending this after Christmas (sorry) so it will probably come after new years (happy new! again?). I missed you guys during Christmas. It was really nice here but it’s not the same without Courfeyrac’s mulled wine, Joly yelling about mistletoes and bacteria, you being grumpy about capitalism..._

_Anyway. Since I know how much you hate Christmas-capitalism, I decided to NOT contribute to it this year. Alas, I present you with this monstrosity. I really hope it’s survived the transport. And I’m running out of space to write (but admit that this postcard is cute as heck), so once again: Merry Christmas, Enjolras._

_I’ll see you soon,_

_Grantaire_

The postcard _was_ terribly cute: a little cartoon Santa throwing glitter-covered gifts from his sleigh down into chimneys. Rudolf's nose even had some red glitter too. Grinning, Enjolras set it aside and turned his attention to the cylinder in the box. Carefully, he took the paper off and opened the cylinder.

He almost gasped when he rolled out the drawing.

Last year, Grantaire and he had taken what had been dubbed “the only valid selfie”. The lighting had been perfect, they were both smiling and looking straight into the camera from the appropriate angle. Grantaire had painted said selfie, but changed their clothes to ugly Christmas sweaters and drawn snow and Christmas lights in the background. He turned it to find a little note on the back.

_At least we’re together for Christmas in one way!_

An overwhelming sense of affection washed over him. He fought every urge to cry as he picked up the phone and called Grantaire. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey, what’s up?” He sounded a little out of breath. “I have class in three minutes so you know, but how’s it going?”

“Oh, sorry. I just…” He looked down at the painting and the waves of affection crashed right back. “I got your painting.”

“Oh.”

Was he imagining it, or did Grantaire sound nervous?

“I love it.” _I love you._ “I love it so, so much. Grantaire-” _I’m so helpless in love with you_ “-it’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Oh.” This time there was nothing but utter joy in Grantaire’s voice. “I’m glad. Really glad. I was worried you wouldn’t like it and- oh shit, oh fuck. Sorry man, door’s closing, gotta run. See ya!”

The line went dead and Enjolras couldn't help but giggle. He looked at the painting again, feeling his grin grow wider. He put it down, heading out to find a frame to put it in.

***

**Grantaire (15:07)**

enjolras

you are officially my favourite person

ever

you’ve officially beaten van gogh and you KNOW i’m a simp for him

i can’t believe you actually got me those watercolours ;-;

you are THE best and I will call you later and thank you but i gotta run to a late seminary thingy

just know you’re the absolute best and i love this with all of my black empty heart

***

If you’d asked Enjolras what he had been doing in January, he would have asked you if it wasn’t still January.

It wasn’t.

The gifts had arrived just after school started on January 6th. And once school had started, time had passed in a blur; Combeferre agreed with Enjolras on that. The realisation of being in their final year had finally hit them. They only had a couple of months left and with that came more studying, but also tying all loose ends with the club. Not that everyone would be leaving. Several members, such as Jehan and Cosette, still had a year left. Still, they wanted to make sure everything ran smoothly when they left.

Lamarque hadn’t been in school the whole month. So Enjolras got a pleasant surprise bumping into him in the hallway.

“Professor. How are you doing?”

“Quite well,” Lamarque said, actually looking like he meant it. “Would you mind coming with me for a bit?” His expression turned serious. “I need to speak with you.”


	4. Spring

"Everything alright, professor?” Enjolras asked as they stepped into the office. He sank down in the grand leather armchair while Lamarque sat down behind the desk. It felt better, more right; like the balance had been restored in the room.

“Oh, absolutely.” Lamarque smiled at him. “I know I told you this before, but you’ve done a truly stellar job. Which is why I have another offer for you. If you want to, I can help you get a position within the school when this year is over.”

“Wait seriously?” He clamped a hand over his mouth, but Lamaraque only chuckled. “I mean, do you really mean that professor?”

“Absolutely. Or, if you’d rather spread your wings, I can help you find an internship outside of school.”

Enjolras blinked, searching for the right words. Lamarque must have seen him struggling because he gave him a kind look and continued:

“Enjolras, you allowed me to spend very precious time with my wife. Probably her last Christmas. This is the least I could do.”

“I... “

Lamarque laughed, heartfelt and loud. “It’s rare to see you speechless. You don’t need to answer me now. Actually, I’d advise against doing so. Think it over. Whatever you decide you want to do, I’ll help you out.”

“Thank you, professor. I’ll… I’ll make sure to do so.” A thought hit him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you going to do after this semester?”

“I don’t mind at all. I’ll retire.” There was a small sparkle of amusement in Lamarque’s eyes. “It’s really long overdue. I suspect the institution will be relieved to see such a stubborn old geezer go.”

“I’m sure not, professor. The students love you.”

“So I do hope. But I suspect they also want a teacher who understands how to insert DVDs in his computer. Or use those streaming services, whatever they’re called.”

Enjolras bit back a grin.

“Right, before you go-” Lamarque reached under his desk for his bag “-my wife made you something.” He handed Enjolras a soft package. “She loves knitting, but our grandchildren have more jumpers than they can wear. She, or rather we both, wish you a belated Christmas.”

“Oh.” Enjolras resisted the urge to hug the gift. A picture of Mrs Lamarque sitting knitting surfaced in his mind. It was oddly sad and comforting all at once. “That’s so sweet of her. Tell her thank you and merry Christmas too.”

“I will. Take care, Enjolras.”

Enjolras stood, cradling the gift carefully. “You too, professor. And your wife.”

***

It was a bright red sweater, knitted with wool so soft it felt like a cloud. He hadn’t met Mrs Lamarque many times, but somehow she’d gotten his measurements almost perfectly. The sleeves were a little too long, but if he rolled them up it fit perfectly. He snapped a photo in the mirror, sending it to Grantaire.

**Enjolras (20:45)**

How do I look?

He was midway through reading an article for class when his phone buzzed.

**Grantaire (21:17)** **  
***O*

COSY!!!

and also mad cute

where did you get that?

**Enjolras (21:18)** **  
**Thanks lol.

Lamarque’s wife made it.

**Grantaire (21:18)**

aww that’s so sweet of her

how is she?

**Enjolras (21:19)**

Can I call?

She’s not dying, I should add, don’t worry.

Talking is just easier.

“You’re such a grandad,” Grantaire snorted when he answered. “Texting isn’t that difficult.”

“Oh shut up.” _I just like hearing your voice._ “Talking is nicer.”

Grantaire hummed in agreement. “Fair enough. So, what’s up?”

“Suffering through an article on child protection proceedings.” He scrolled up and down the article. He’d lost track of where he was anyway. “You?”

“I thought you liked studying that.” There were some papers rustling in the background. “I gave up on studying right before I texted you.”

“Probably smart. It’s late.” He exited the article and shut his computer. Practice what you preach and all. “And I do like it. The article is boring.”

“Not complicated enough to grab your attention?”

Enjolras laughed, standing to close the blinds on his window. “Something like that. It’s very basic knowledge.”

Grantaire snorted. “You have a skewed understanding of what basic knowledge is.”

“Says you. What was that painter you mentioned in a letter? Underwear guy?”

“Hey.” Grantaire did his best to sound defensive, but the laughter coating his voice gave him away. “I admitted it was niche knowledge.”

“Fine.” He laid down on his bed, hissing in pain when the keys in pocket stabbed him in the leg. Taking them out, he watched the dim lights hit the Union Jack keyring. “Lamarque offered to get me a position working at our uni,” he said, eyes still on the keys.

“Really? Hey dude, that’s great!” It sounded like Grantaire laid down in bed too. “You gonna take him up on that?”

“I’m not sure,” Enjolras admitted. His arm hurt from holding the keyring up. He let it fall to his side. “I liked teaching but… I don’t know.”

“You don’t want to tie yourself down in the teaching position and miss what you could have accomplished outside of school?”

“Yeah. That’s… Exactly that.”

“To think you’re so easy to read even over the phone.”

“Get out of my head, you creep.”

Grantaire laughed. The sound left a warm fuzzy in Enjolras. “Never. It’s too late to get rid of me now.”

_Not that I’d ever want to._

“But hey, Enjolras,” Grantaire continued before Enjolras could respond. “You can always try something else, find an internship, become the best lawyer in France, save humanity, etcetera. And then, when you’re tired of that, go back to teaching.”

“I won’t become the best lawyer in France,” Enjolras protested. He knew Grantaire was rolling his eyes on the other end. “But I get what you mean. It sounds… Reasonable.”

“Reasonable, he said like a grandpa.” A yawn. “But I’m glad you think so. Hey listen, I gotta go to sleep. I have class at eight tomorrow.”

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Not my choice, mandatory shit.” Grantaire flicked off the light with a click. “Good night, Enjolras.”

“Good night, Grantaire.”

***

_The yee to my haw, Enjolras,_

_It’s finally spring! Do you know how fucking_ _depressing_ _February and, so far, March in London is? Really fucking depressing is the answer. Seriously. You know those black and white photos from the 1800s, where no one ever smiles? Yeah. They all make sense now._

_Again, good luck with the Lamarque thingy. What I said on the phone still stands: you’ll be the best lawyer in France and probably the best teacher too. I don’t think I need to get you a “Common Law For Dummies” lol._

_Oh, and I’ve started looking into alternatives to come home for a bit in June! I have a week off, for whatever reason, and I really want to make it home once before September. It’s been ages since_ _I saw you guys. And I’m sure you all miss my stunning face too. I’ll let you know how it goes._

_Talk to you soon,_

_Grantaire_

***  
  


_Dear Grantaire,_

_(The yee to my haw, what’s that even supposed to mean…)_

_I can imagine, unfortunately. Does it make you feel better if I say February here was terrible too? (March was okay though. Sorry.)_

_I hope I can manage without such a book but I guess we’ll have to wait and see… How’s school going for you? Lot’s of work? Combeferre and I are just about drowning... I mean, I knew it would be a lot, but it's still insane. So far we've both managed to stay mostly on schedule. Hopefully we can keep it up but dear lord... It's all very interesting though. So it's fun to study. Just a lot._

_That would be great! I hope you can find a way to come home then. You’re right, it’s been so long… (And yes, we do miss you.) Keep me updated!_

_Talk to you soon,_

_Enjolras_

***

They still hadn’t replaced the broken coffee maker. Enjolras couldn’t remember when it had been cleaned last either. It was one of the first things Courfeyrac pointed out, barging into their apartment.

“You guys need fresh oxygen. The kind that doesn’t smell like a burned down coffee factory.”

Jehan, stepping in after him, nodded their head vigorously. Combeferre gestured towards the stacks of papers and books on their kitchen table.

“Studying.”

“Absolutely babe. And when was the last time you guys saw the sun?”

The short pause was all the answer Courfeyrac needed. “Right.” He gently pried the book from Combeferre’s hands and set it aside. Enjolras quickly snatched his computer out of the way. Jehan closed it from over his shoulder.

“You guys have been studying constantly for a week. You need a break.”

A protest was on the tip of Enjolras’ tongue but he swallowed it back. A headache was creeping up on him and Courfeyrac was right; it’d been days since they’d left the apartment, not counting class. His brain told him to keep studying, but the rest of his body screamed for a break. Locking eyes with Combeferre, Enjolras could tell he’d come to the same conclusion.

“Fine.” Combeferre pushed back his chair and stood. Courefyrac and Jehan did a subtle fistbump behind his back. “A short break.”

Jehan initially proposed taking a walk around the nearest park. The cold wind hitting them as soon as they stepped out effectively blew such plans away. They ended up in a cafe close by. Enjolras squinted up at the menu.

“Is it warm enough for iced coffee yet?”

“Dude were you with us outside just now?” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at him. “So much for that talk about spring. But anyway, no. Not even I’m that gay.”

“That’s a lie and the poor barista making you an iced latte in a blizzard can attest to that.” Jehan rolled their eyes stepping up to the desk. “You two need a caffeine detox, though. Four green teas please.”

Enjolras had to admit the green tea was a welcoming change to the countless cups of black coffee. They found a secluded table outside, sheltered from the wind and cold. Jehan immediately banned all talks about school or work. Enjolras and Combeferre rolled their eyes but complied. And Enjolras had to admit, once again, it was a welcomed change. Every second passing he grew more relaxed, laughing about one of Courfeyrac’s cooking mishaps. Next to him, Combeferre rubbed his temple like he was getting a headache. He told Jehan he’d buy them several more fire extinguishers. But his shoulders were visibly lower than before and he had a fond smile on his face. Enjolras caught Jehan’s eyes and hoped he managed to convey his gratitude through his gaze.

“How’s Grantaire?” Jehan suddenly asked, leaning closer with a grin on their face.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac butted in before Enjolras could respond. He waved his mug in Enjolras face. “Spill the tea Enjolras.”

Jehan elbowed him in the side. “You’ve hit a new low.”

“Well, _you_ hit _me_ , so haven’t you also-” he hissed in pain “-I get it, I get it. Stop kicking me.” Courfeyrac rubbed his side. “Grantaire would have appreciated it.”

“You both have shit humour. So, Enjolras-” Jehan turned their attention back to him “-Grantaire?”

“He’s fine.” Enjolras shrugged. Three pairs of eyes gave him unimpressed looks. “Fine, fine. He’s good, lots of work and all, but he still really likes it in London.”

“And…?”

“And?”

Courfeyrac groaned, hitting his head against Jehan’s shoulder. “And when are we invited to the wedding? And can you have like Skype-sex but via mail- ow, will you guys _stop kicking me_?”

“What Courfeyrac elegantly tried to say-” Jehan took over “-was, how’s it going? No pressure to answer. We’re just curious and trying to look out for our friends.”

Enjolras hadn’t realised how he’d begun to slightly press the paper mug together. Not exactly crush it, just gently pressing it together. “I don’t know. You know when you’re sort of balancing on the edge, not tipping over to either side?” He got nods in response, especially from Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “Yeah. That.”

“Frustrating.”

“Very.” Enjolras paper cup was almost completely smashed together. “Not sure if I want to bring it up now either. Instead of face to face, I mean.”

“I get that,” Combeferre hummed. “Less personal over the phone.”

“It’s kinda like breaking up with someone on the phone, in a way,” Jehan added. “Same energy, on opposite ends of the spectrum.”

Enjolras snorted, shaking his head at Jehan’s grin. “Not how I would have put it, but yeah.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Courfeyrac leaned over the table to squeeze Enjolras’ hand. “Now or when he gets home.”

“Thanks.” He squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand back. Jehan switched subjects to talk about one of their plants. Enjolras appreciated it, leaning back in his seat to listen.

They’d finished their tea and the sun was beginning to set. Gathering their things, Courfeyrac invited Combeferre and Enjolras over. Combeferre gave Enjolras an unsure look. _Should we? I kinda want to. Or should we go back home and study?_

“Sorry.” Enjolras sent Combeferre an apologetic look. “I really gotta get back to work. You should go though,” he told Combeferre when he saw him hesitate. “You got more done than I did earlier.”

“And you left two books in my room,” Courferyac chimed in. “So if you need to study you can do it at ours.”

Jehan let out a sigh, leaning to whisper to Enjolras: “I think Combeferre needs to study human anatomy in general, not specific humans.” Enjolras had to bite his lip to not laugh. Combeferre glared at them anyway, sensing what was said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to?” Jehan said louder, giving Enjolras a look clearly begging him to join them. _Please, we both know what will happen; save me._

“Sorry,” Enjolras said again, hoping Jehan could tell he meant it. “Another time.”

They waved goodbye by the metro. Enjolras plugged his headphones in as he walked home, shivering in the wind but appreciating the time alone.

***

There was a letter on the doormat when Enjolras stepped into the apartment. He shrugged off his jacket, almost tripping on the threshold in the hallway because he was focused on the letter. He slid down on the sofa. Work could wait until after he’d opened it. He’d get nothing done otherwise anyway.

_Enjolras (yes, I ran out of greetings, shut up)_

_I’ve booked my tickets home! I’ll send you the exact dates and times in the group chat so you all have it. It’s just a week, unfortunately, and I might have to work a little while I’m there. But still! I’m really looking forward to it._

_And school’s...yeah it’s a lot. We’re working to finish up our projects now. It’s going pretty okay, actually. But I’m saying this before the final rush is kicking in and I realise I have forgotten fifty things and the things I have remembered are shit. I’m gonna guess it’s the same for you, but my apartment literally smells like someone poured coffee in every corner. (Which isn’t inaccurate because I’ve spilt so much coffee working. Thankfully not on my work. Yet.)_

_Anyway, I gotta go. Continue working or something. (Read: procrastinating on Candy Crush. I know, it's the oldest game. I told myself, hey I’ll download it so I can play it during breaks for stress relief. Yeah, go ahead. Laugh. I’m a fucking idiot. Don’t do that. ~~I don't remember it being so addictive.~~ ) _

_I’ll talk to you (and see you), soon_

_Grantaire_

Setting the letter aside, Enjolras made a mental note to call Grantaire later. He pulled his computer out, rubbing his eyes. As much as he wanted to call Grantaire right away, he really did need to work.

Despite taking a break for dinner, he finished work much sooner than he’d thought. He sent a mental apology to Jehan; he could definitely have joined them for dinner.

Granataire answered on the first ring.

“Yo, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras said as he closed his laptop. “I just wanted to call you.”

“Oh.”

“Is it a bad time?”

“No, or, yes, kinda. Sorry, Enjolras.” Grantaire sighed on the other end. “I really want to talk to you but-” he paused, likely gesturing towards something “-I’m trying to catch up on work.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Listen, I’m really sorry,” Grantaire hurried to add, talking so fast he almost slurred. “I’ll call you tomorrow, is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Enjolras hoped he concealed his disappointment well enough. “I’ll talk to you then. Good luck with the studying.”

“Big emphasis on the dying,” Grantaire said. He sounded more like himself. “Talk to you then.”

The call ended and Enjolras stared at his phone. He resisted the urge to hit himself. What was he getting worked up over? Grantaire needing to study? What a pathetic thing to feel rejected over. He probably needed to sleep, let himself rest.

He opened his laptop again instead. Might as well work ahead.

***

Granatire called exactly the second Enjolras stepped out of class.

“Nice timing,” he smiled when he picked up. “I just got out of class.”

“Thanks.” Grantaire laughed. “I may or may not have asked Courf about your schedule.”

“And here I thought you were a wizard.” He waved to one of his former students in the corridor. “Disappointing.”

“Hey, how do you know I’m not a wizard? I could just be trying to conceal my true nature.”

“Sure,” Enjolras snorted, hearing Grantaire snicker.

  
“Sorry for cutting the call short yesterday.” Grantaire sounded more serious. “I wish I could have talked to you but-”

“Grantaire, don’t worry about that,” Enjolras cut in. “It’s fine. You gotta study, I definitely get that. Better than most probably.”

“That’s probably true.” Grantaire sounded relieved. “Still, I sounded kinda harsh. Wasn’t aimed at you, just the stress.”

“You’re apologising to _me_ for sounding mean due to stress?” Enjolras couldn’t help but shake his head, even if Grantaire couldn’t see him. “Have you ever met me?”

Grantaire snorted. “Touché. You’re not as bad as you think you are, though. Anyway, I think I said so in my letter, but I booked tickets home.”

“You did,” Enjolras confirmed. He checked the time on his watch. Five minutes until the meeting with Lamarque. “It’s great, we’ll all be glad to have you back home.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it too. I’m expecting a grand welcome home party.”

Enjolras snorted. “You bet. Jehan and Courfeyrac haven’t talked about anything else in days. We’re getting you gifts and all. I’ll… I’ll send you something beforehand.” He didn’t know where that came from. It just slipped out and Grantaire cheered. “I’m about to have a meeting with Lamarque,” Enjolras continued. “Talk about his offer and that.”

“Have you decided?”

“Yeah.” He stopped outside Lamarque’s office. “I’m not going to take the teaching job.”

“Alright.” Grantaire’s voice was soft. “Sounds like a good plan. And I'm sure Lamarque will understand. Good luck. And keep me updated.”

“I will,” Enjolras promised before ending the call. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Professor?”

***

He actually managed to find something to send as a gift. It was, on all accounts, quite a silly gift. But putting it in the gift envelope, it felt oddly right. The only thing missing was the letter.

It took an hour, despite being short. The last letter. It had to be good, but no matter how hard he tried it sounded flat, almost insincere. The letter in front of him was… Not good. Not bad.

_Dear Grantaire,_

_I guess this might be the last letter from me? You’re coming home in two weeks after all. We’re all really excited to see you. It’s so weird it’s been almost a year already. Nine months? Close to a year anyway. Honestly, spring especially has passed so fast. But I’m really glad you’ll be home soon. We’ve missed you._

_Fingers crossed for no unexpected snowstorms again._

_Also, everything went well with Lamarque. He’s going to look into some places he knows will be looking for people to hire and send me a list. He said he’ll write me a letter of recommendation too. So it all turned out well!_

_Anyway, I found this little bear in a shop and it kinda reminded me of the first things we sent. Except, you know, it’s a tiny teddy bear and not a keyring. But it has the french flag on it. You get it. It’s sappy. I know. But he’s cute. Right?_

_Safe trip home._

_I love you,_

_Enjolras_

He stared at the letter for several moments.

What was wrong with him? He couldn’t write _that_ and send it.

He let his head fall into his hands. Just how caught up in this fantasy was he? Enjolras wasn’t that much of an idiot. H knew there was something here, for all his anxiety about Grantaire's feelings. But from that to writing ‘I love you’ in a letter? That was a stretch. They weren’t characters in a romcom. Talking to Grantaire in person, like he’d planned, was the right way to go.

He shoved the letter to the side, grabbing another piece of paper. Why did he write in pen? Carefully, he copied the first letter, omitting only those three words. He started at the letters again. Even without those words, the letter placed high on the sappy scale.

“I’m so fucked,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. He glared at the little reindeer from Grantaire, standing under his desk lamp. “Who gave him the right to make me fall head over heels for him?”

“My bet is on the almighty flying spaghetti monster.”

Enjolras almost fell out of his chair. “What the f-?” he gasped, turning his chair to glare at Courfeyrac. He was clutching the doorpost to keep himself upright laughing. “How long have you been standing there?”

Courfeyrac whipped a tear from his eyes. “Like, two seconds.” He gasped for air, suppressing a giggle before continuing. “We’re ordering Thai. Jehan is also coming over.”

“You gave me a heart attack for Thai food?”

Another giggle. “Absolutely.”

“You’re an ass,” Enjolras told him. Courfeyrac grinned and rolled his eyes.

“And you’re head over heels for Grantaire.” His grin grew wider as Enjolras cheeks grew hot. “What else is new?”

Grumbling, Enjolras shoved the stuff on his desk together. He threw a book over the letters to keep Courfeyrac from seeing them.

“Don’t worry,” Courfeyrac said from his place by the door. “I won’t tell. Although I strongly suspect Combeferre has caught on that you have a slight crush.”

Enjolras threw a pen at him.

***

It started so slowly Enjolras didn’t even notice at first.

The days and weeks all passed in such a blur, he lost all track of time. It was only when he went back in their chat, searching for a video Grantaire sent earlier, that he noticed it. Granatire’s was definitely getting slower at answering. He shrugged it off; of course he was, he had tons of work. Enjolras had definitely gotten worse at answering too.

He didn’t expect to bug him as much as it did in the end. For the first time since Grantaire first left, Enjolras found himself missing him. They’d been texting and talking a lot and with the letters, they’d almost been in constant interaction. It wasn’t like they never talked; it had just slowed down.

**Enjolras (18:43)**

Have you found a ride from the airport? I can pick you up if you want?

He was sitting in the armchair, reading an article on his laptop. Combeferre was sitting on the sofa with Courfeyrac half asleep in his lap, reading a book.

“Did you know most animals below a certain depth in the ocean are red?”

“I didn’t. That’s pretty cool though. Why is that?” Enjolras asked at the same time as Courfeyrac mumbled ‘eyy communist shrimps’. Snorting, Enjolras shook his head. He took a glance at his phone, checking for texts. Nothing.

“Haven’t gotten to that part yet.” Combeferre glanced up from the book. “You know, if Grantaire hasn’t texted you back yet, he’s probably just in class.”

Enjolras felt his cheeks heat up and quickly shoved his phone between the cushions.

“And now you match the red shrimps,” Combeferre was kind enough to point out.

“Eyy, communist Enjolras.”

Combeferre lightly hit Courfeyrac with the book. “That’s him every day, silly.”

Shaking his head at them, Enjolras pushed himself off the armchair. “I’m gonna grab my charger.”

The charger was on his desk, beneath a stack of papers. He pushed them to the side the best he could; the entire desk was jammed with paper and books. At some point, he’d have to sort it all out. Grabbing the charger, one paper caught his attention. It was the draft of the letter he sent Grantaire. He grabbed it, intending to throw it in the trash.

Enjolras’ heart stopped.

The letter was missing three very crucial words. Three words that should have been on this version, the version of the letter he didn’t send.

He’d sent the wrong one.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Grantaire (18:56)**

i haven’t, so that’d be great! thank youuuu

He was so fucked.

***

“You’re definitely making a mountain out of a molehill.” Combeferre sighed, patting him on the back. “I know you’re stressed out, but you really are.”

“I’m not,” Enjolras insisted. He stared down at the letter he never sent. “I’ve fucked up so bad. And I wasn’t even supposed to tell him now. It just… slipped out.”

“Enjolras.” Combeferre waited until Enjolras looked up at him to continue. “You haven’t fucked up. You _know_ Grantaire feels the same. And a confession doesn’t have to be perfect. Sometimes it’s good that it just slips out.”

Combeferre nodded towards the phone in Enjolras’ hand. The conversation between him and Grantaire was open. “Do you think he’d want you to pick you up at the airport if he thought you fucked up?”

“No…” Enjolras agreed, hesitantly. “He might not have gotten the letter though.”

“He’s not going to hate you after that. Quite the opposite.”

Enjolras leaned back on the couch, throwing the letter onto the table. “I really hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Combeferre grinned at him. He gave him another pat on the shoulder before standing up.

“Like the time you said pouring salt in your coffee would make it less bitter?”

“Is this what I get for trying to cheer you up?” Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him. “And I _was_ right about what should have happened; it was too much salt.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Enjolras smiled at the fake glare Combeferre gave him. “Thank you, Ferre.”

“Anytime.”

***

Enjolras wished he could believe Combeferre. He really did. But the trend continued and he got fewer and fewer texts from Grantaire. The rational part of his brain knew it was likely just Grantaire being busy, but the anxious part of the brain wouldn’t have it.

It didn’t help when the date approached fast and he still hadn’t gotten any response on the letter. No letter back, no call, no mention in a text.

Combeferre gave him an unimpressed look when he mentioned it. “Half the postal service is on a strike. We literally talked about this yesterday.”

“We did?”

“Yeah. They’re striking for better working hours. You support them.” Combeferre gently pried the laptop from Enjolras’ hands. “Go to sleep, Enjolras. You seriously need to rest.”

It was four days before Grantaire was going to be home. Four days, three nights. Terribly far away, terribly close. And Enjolras couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard he tried. He knew Combeferre was probably right. He definitely needed the rest and Grantaire was busy packing and working.

_I love you._

What was he going to do, going to the airport? If the anxious part of him was right… Maybe it was better to meet him at the apartment, together with everyone else. It probably was… The light from his phone was blinding when he picked it up.

**Enjolras (23:57)**

Hey listen, can you do me a favour and pick Grantaire up at the airport?

**Bahorel (23:58)**

I thought you were gonna do that??

**Enjolras (23:58)**

I know, I know, just… Please?

**Bahorel (23:59)**

I… Yeah? Sure. I’ll do it.

**Enjolras (00:00)**

Thanks, dude. I appreciate it.

***

The day arrived. Grantaire was arriving on a late afternoon plane. Enjolras’ and Combeferre’s apartment was crowded already. They would have hosted the welcome home party at Courfeyrac’s, but there was a problem with the water in the apartment complex. Enjolras and Combeferrfe’s was the next best choice.

It was unfortunately not a _good_ choice. It was much smaller and everyone kept bumping into each other setting everything up. Bossuet has already knocked over two (empty, luckily) bowls and Jehan stepped off a chair right onto Cosette.

They were halfway through setting everything up for the party when Courfeyrac called Enjolras into the hallway.

“Dude,” he said, handing Enjolras a stack of mail. There was a letter perched on top of it. “I really don’t want to say ‘we told you so’, but…”

“I haven’t opened it yet,” Enjolras answered, already walking away. He knew Courfeyrac was rolling his eyes behind his back. He didn’t care, couldn’t find it in his mind to even consider it. His heart was beating out of his chest as he navigated towards his room. Somehow he only bumped into someone once, even though he was focused on the letter. Closing the door behind him, he sank into his chair.

_Enjolras,_

_Yes. It’s honest to god the second cutest teddy bear I’ve seen in my life. It’s the second cutest because Look At This Absolute Chonk Boi I found. He’s (objectively) the most adorable bear in the world. It’s just science._

_That being said I absolutely love the one you sent. He’s phenomenal. My friend suggested I name him Max, which is nice because it works in both French and English._

_(Seriously though, I’m sorry man but this is objectively the sappiest thing to ever happen. No complaints though. You know I live for this kind of sappy shit. It’s like pizza with extra cheese - the best thing ever. Cuz it’s cheesy. Heh._ _Sorry._ _)_

_I really really look forward to coming home too. I’ve missed you guys like crazy._

_See you soon!_

_And I love you too,_

_Grantaire_

He was on his feet before he’d processed the movement.

“Bahorel,” he shouted, rushing out of the room. “Change of plans, I’m getting Grantaire.”

“What?”

Bahorel stormed out of the kitchen, decorations still in hand. Enjolras didn’t stop to explain. He threw his shoes on, not bothering to tie them. Grabbed the jacket and he was out the door.

“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder. Bahorel stood, confused in the doorway. “I’ll explain later.”

***

If his heart beat any faster, he might just pass out. Enjolras’ eyes were fixed on the door from which passengers emerged. Any minute now. He took a breath, trying to calm his beating heart. It didn’t work.

Especially not when, only a second later, he spotted a familiar mop of curly dark hair. Grantaire’s face lit up when he spotted Enjoras. He waved excitedly, speeding up his steps. Enjolras pushes his way through the crowd.

“Hey,” he breathed when they finally reached each other. The sounds around them disappeared and Enjolras forgot they were in a crowded airport. It had been almost a year since he’d seen Grantaire in person. It hit him standing there, not because Grantaire had changed much. It felt like a hole had been filled in his heart; a piece he’d been missing had finally been found again.

“Hey yourself.” Grantaire’s smile could have lit up the whole city. They hugged and Enjolras was again hit by the feeling of how right it was. He’d seen Grantaire’s face over the course of the year; but now he was here and Enjolras could actually touch him, hug him.

“I’ve missed you,” Enjolras mumbled into Grantaire’s shoulder. Even the scent was comforting. “So much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Grantaire squeezed him tighter. “Hey did you… Did you get my last letter?”

“I did.” Enjolras breathed out a laugh. “Just this morning.”

“Oh thank god.” Grantaire relaxed, pulling back to rest his head against Enjolras’ collarbone. “I was so worried you wouldn’t get it in time, and then I thought maybe I should call you about it. But that felt weird too, and so did texting. Jehan yelled at me a lot.”

“Combeferre did the same to me.” He paused, shaking his head. “We’re idiots.”

Grantaire laughed. It was nice to hear without the statics of the phone. “We are,” he agreed. He pulled back, looking up at Enjolras.

Enjolras slowly moved his hand from Grantaire’s back up to his chin.

“Would it be too cheesy if I kissed you now?”

Grinning, Grantaire leaned closer. “Absolutely not.”

Enjolras still felt the smile on Grantaire’s lips when they kissed. He knew he was grinning just as widely. It was a pretty terrible kiss, with teeth bumping and both of them on the verge of giggling. But it didn’t matter. It was Grantaire, it was right and it was home.

They broke apart, still smiling widely. The sounds around them came back. Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“We should probably get going.”

“Probably,” Grantaire agreed. He squeezed Enjolras’ hand as they walked towards the exit. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Team** : Grantaire  
>  **Theme** : Home  
>  **Prompt** : 
> 
> And don't forget to check out the other works for the games!


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